


hyacinthus

by autumnstwilight (sewohayami)



Series: Ignoct Week 2019 [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Flower Language, Getting Together, IgNoct, Ignoct Week, Ignoct Week 2019, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, One Shot, accidental confessions, brotherhood era, rated M due to a brief date with rosie palms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 20:03:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20069788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sewohayami/pseuds/autumnstwilight
Summary: It's not that unusual for Ignis to leave flowers in Noctis' apartment, to "liven the place up," he says. And so Noctis thinks nothing of the modest bouquet that comes with his birthday present. Neither does he think much about the fact that some people ascribe secret meanings to flowers.Gladiolus, on the other hand? It just so happens that Gladio isfucking fluentin flower language, thank you very much.





	hyacinthus

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Ignoct Week, though not really for any particular prompt. I suppose I could file it loosely under "Habits/Quirks".

His eighteenth birthday passes without much fuss, which was the way he wanted it. He gives a brief appearance on Insomnian television, thanks the people for their support and gifts (which he hasn’t yet seen) and promises anew to spend his life in their service. His statement quietly avoids anything remotely concrete about the future of their nation, and so is met with muted congratulations and minimal controversy.

He grabs lunch afterward with Prompto, watching with mild disgust as his friend squeezes sweet chili dressing over a salad, and devouring his own double cheeseburger (no onions, no pickles) and large fries (extra salt). Prompto fidgets with the old wristband he always wears, and he jokes about how hard it is to buy for “the guy who already has, like,  _ everything, _ ” before he pulls out the first-press collector’s edition of  _ Orbital Insanity, _ a shooting game they’d played for an entire summer when they were fourteen or so. It comes with a resin figure of the protagonist posed in mid-combat with an alien mutant.

“Neat.”

“Yeah, that only came with the first hundred copies or so. Kinda went through your stuff to make sure you didn’t have it.” He barks out a nervous laugh.

“Nah, it’s cool. Not like my game collection is a secret.”

Prompto visibly relaxes, “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, guess you’re busy today and all, but you wanna play later this week? Bet I can still kick your ass.”

“Yeah? You’re on!” Noctis replies. His schedule isn’t full, exactly, but he’s totally going to take an afternoon to practice alone before he invites Prompto over. He hasn’t forgotten how unfairly good Prompto is at shooters. It’s not like it’s  _ cheating. _ Not really.

He meets Gladio for dinner at a grillhouse. Ignis was meant to catch up with them, but sends a text to say he’s held up at the Citadel. He’s probably covering something for Noctis, to make sure that he has a clear schedule for the day, so Noctis doesn’t complain. He texts back with a thumbs up and  _ see you later then specs. _

Gladio greets him with a back slap that feels like it might have shattered a shoulder blade, and buys him a beer. It’s not Noctis’ first drink, he’s been taking (small, disgusted) sips of champagne at various ceremonies and formal events since he was about fourteen. But this is the first official one. It turns out he doesn’t care for beer much either, but he finishes the glass out of stubbornness. Gladio ponders out loud trying the restaurant’s Behemoth Steak Challenge one of these days, and privately, Noctis doesn’t doubt he could manage it. Out loud he says,

“Wouldn’t that be cannibalism?”

“Dunno,” answers Gladio, and rubs his chin. “Is it cannibalism when you eat a Twinkie?” he muses, leaving Noctis to splutter through a mouthful of mashed potato.

Gladio doesn’t have a present for him, they’ve never really done gift-giving. He jokes that he’ll only make Noctis do half the usual number of crunches tomorrow, and Noctis gives him the finger. Gladio pays for the meal, which is a nice gesture even if it has no practical effect on Noctis’ finances.

Ignis is waiting when he finally arrives back at his apartment. He’s in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on a small cake for the two of them to share. There’s also a neatly packed container of berry custard tarts, resealable, as if Ignis expects them to last more than a single day. On the counter, cut and arranged in a vase, is a modest bouquet of flowers. Noctis recognizes red sylleblossoms (the blue ones only grow in Tenebrae), but couldn’t name the other flowers, in shades of light blue and faint purple, nor the dark leaves and stems arranged behind them. There’s a pleasant, vanilla-ish scent. It’s not the first time that Ignis has bought a bouquet to “liven up the place”, and even if it is a bit weird to get flowers from a guy, living in the concrete jungle of Insomnia, Noctis kind of likes it. It reminds him of Tenebrae a bit, particularly the sylleblossoms.

“I’d better not find carrots in that cake.”

Ignis gasps in mock offense, “I would  _ never. _ ” Then, under his breath but a little too loudly,  _ let you find them. _

The cake is sliced and plated, and no matter how much Noctis squints, he can’t make out any hint of illicit ingredients. He takes a cautious bite, and can’t taste them either. It’s a good thing, he would hate to have to execute his advisor for cake-related treachery.

And so Noctis’ birthday passes without much fuss, the way he wanted it. The fuss doesn’t start until three days later.

Gladio stops by Noctis apartment to deliver some books for him to study, old combat and military strategy manuals from the Amicitia manor’s collection. That’s what he’s meant to be doing, but instead he walks into the living space and announces,

“Huh. Didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

“What,” says Noctis. It has to be the set-up to some dumb joke, but Gladio sounds serious and the punchline doesn’t come.

“What?” says Noctis again, louder this time.

“Oh. Guess it’s a secret admirer then. Definitely a guy though.” He sniffs.

Noctis is wondering whether Gladio is claiming to have some sixth-sense for gay secret admirers when his Shield marches over to the bouquet still sitting on the kitchen counter and starts examining the flowers.

“Mind telling me  _ what the hell you’re on about? _ ” Noctis interrupts.

“You didn’t take Solheimian history and culture in school, did you?”

“What? No, I had to take Modern Lucian History. One of those things I might  _ actually need. _ ”

“Right, right,” Gladio says to the flower bouquet. “Well, here’s a crash course in Solheim symbology.”

He takes hold of one of the black leaved fronds from the back of the bouquet. “Ravenwing. Concealment, secrets, private thoughts. The root’s an aphrodisiac, by the way.”

“O...kay…”

“ _ Zelos ardens _ — red sylleblossoms. Ardent admiration, passion.”

“I thought sylleblossoms were for zeal?”

“Blue’s zeal, devotion, destiny. White is purity, singlemindedness. Red’s definitely passion though.”

He keeps picking through the bouquet, pulling out a black stem with tiny red berries attached.

“Blooddrop. Means an oath. Used to be used in brotherhood ceremonies. Of course, swearing your life to another guy ain’t always about ‘brotherhood’, if you get my drift…”

He points out the small purplish-white flowers, the ones giving off the vanilla scent. “Turnsole. Always turns to face the sun. Devotion.” Then, the slightly larger and deeper purple flowers, “Violets, sincerity and modesty… hm, know anyone with a birthday in February?”

Noctis knows perfectly well where the flowers came from, but cuts Gladio off.

“Okay, whatever. Apart from that, like, one thing that  _ might _ be about brotherhood, there’s nothing to say it’s from a guy. Quit screwing with me.”

“I’m getting to that part. You know who Hyacinth was?”

“I know it’s another goddamn flower.”

Gladio sighs, “Okay, so back when Ifrit ruled Solheim, he used to take human lovers, quite a lot of them. Who’s gonna say no to a God-King, right? Anyway, this was all back before Shiva, uh,  _ warmed up _ to humanity. She wasn’t too keen on it.”

“And?”

“So, Hyacinth. He was one of Ifrit’s pretty young things. The favorite for a while, even though he was a mortal. And a guy. So one day, when he was ascending Ifrit’s tower, Shiva sent a gust of icy wind to blow him to his death.”

Gladio’s grinning now, Noctis knows he enjoys any opportunity to show off his nerdy bookworm side, gods know why. Maybe he gets sick of people assuming he’s just a wall of muscle.

“Ifrit tried to put his broken body back together, but Shiva turned it into ice. But Ifrit kept trying to put the spark of life back, and eventually it sprouted into a patch of blue flowers. And that’s why we call them hyacinths.”

Noctis shrugs, trying to pretend that the story wasn’t kind of interesting. “So?”

“That shit’s all over Solheimian literature, hell, all the way up to the Early-Lucian period. Hyacinths are gay. You read a love poem and it’s got hyacinths in it— bet your bottom yen that the author and subject are both dudes. There’s a character in a story carrying hyacinths, or wearing hyacinths, or gets compared to a hyacinth? Gay. Hell, one courtier even wrote an anonymous memoir about homosexuality in Tontritus’ Lucian court. It’s called the Hyacinth Scrolls.”

“How do  _ you _ know so much about— “ Noctis starts, but Gladio raises a hand to cut him off.

“There’s more to it, of course. There’s meanings in the positions of the flowers, how far open they are, buds versus leaves, hell, which way the ribbon is tied. I’m not gonna talk your ear off. But I can tell effort went into this. You don’t put all this stuff together by accident.”

“Hah. Well, sorry, but I’m gonna have to burst your bubble. I don’t have a boyfriend, or a secret admirer.  _ Ignis _ gave me those.” He laughs, expecting Gladio to laugh with him, or at least look abashed, but instead his expression only gets more serious.

“Iggy did? You sure?”

And suddenly Noct’s stomach is somewhere around his feet because Gladio doesn’t seem to think this is funny or a joke at all. He doesn’t even seem to be considering the possibility that it could be a  _ mistake, _ a random bouquet grabbed off the shelf. Ignis doesn’t— Ignis wouldn’t— 

Gladio takes a deep breath.

“Shit. Guess you guys have got some talking to do.”

* * *

Gladio leaves the books behind, but rather than study them, Noctis takes out his old game console to practice the game that Prompto gave him. The graphics are starting to show their age, and he needs to get used to the slight clunkiness of the controls again. There's an exploitable bug that cuts a few frames off the reload animation, and he works on mastering the timing to pull it off consistently like he used to, because a match between him and Prompto comes down to whoever can gain the slightest advantage. Mostly, he doesn't think about Ignis.

Or he does, but he stubbornly refuses to follow that train of thought. He'll see Ignis tomorrow morning, and there'll be a perfectly sensible, perfectly  _ Ignis _ explanation for the flowers. One that doesn't involve his oldest childhood friend having… feelings for him. Feelings like ardent passion and secret devotion, or… whatever the hell Gladio had said. He can't even remember half of it.

He misses the timing window for the exploit and swears as his character jumps instead. The flowers probably came out of a bargain bin somewhere. Ignis was at a meeting until late. Maybe it was all the florist had left. He almost certainly hadn't been thinking of some old story about Ifrit and his boy-toy. Ignis doesn't care about that kind of thing, ancient and unverifiable. He’s practical, not romantic.

_ Even if he does buy you flowers. _

He lets out a groan and a yawn that is exaggerated for the benefit of no-one, and switches off the game. It’s not that late, but he didn’t nap all day, and bed sounds like a good place to be. His rumpled sheets are still there from that morning, pillow and mattress soft and inviting. He sinks into them, and is immediately betrayed by a complete inability to get comfortable, legs restless, too hot, too cold, too itchy. His mind is travelling in weird circles. How would he feel if Ignis really did  _ like _ him? It would be flattering, wouldn’t it, even if it was awkward? And how would he feel if, after all this, it turned out Ignis had no interest in anything of the sort? He resolutely ignores the vague disappointment that settles somewhere in his gut at that thought, convincing himself it’s the best possible outcome. He pushes away thoughts of Ignis, sitting alone in his apartment, carefully trimming stems and tying ribbons.

Well, it’s not like he’s  _ upset. _ If he had to pick a guy, he considers, it’d probably be Ignis. They half live together already. Prompto’s a lot of fun, and a good friend, but he feels safe with Ignis, in a way he doesn’t feel with anyone else. And hell, Noctis  _ has eyes. _ He’s seen his friend go from a gawky, bookish, slightly spotty twig, to, well, someone who turns heads when they walk down the corridors of the Citadel. Men as well as women. He’s seen Ignis training, once when he didn’t realize he was being watched, defined shoulders and arms exposed by a tank top that was plastered to his chest with sweat, hair damp and mussed, a furious intensity in his gaze and movements. He’d looked like he should be in some movie, or at least a commercial.

His eyes snap open then. If he  _ had _ to pick a guy? What in the entire hell is he thinking about? His hand, which is apparently a  _ complete traitor, _ has worked its way down to rest on the front on his boxers, and he yanks it away like it’s on fire.

Sleep apparently isn’t an option right now, so he tries a different distraction, one that will hopefully leave him with a clearer mind. He grabs his phone, wincing at the brightness when the screen illuminates, and searches the history for a particular video link. The lady featured is a bottle-blonde, sort of a girl-next-door type, with a cheerful confidence to her movements and actions, taking the lead.

She’s cute. She’s his type. He focuses on her, breathing hard along with the movements of his hand. He doesn’t wonder about what would happen if Ignis ever caught him doing this, if he’s ever heard a telltale gasp or creak of bedsprings, if he’s ever secretly wanted to see. The idea of being watched definitely doesn’t get him closer. And if he’s thinking of anyone other than Miss Girl-Next-Door when he finishes with a short, sharp cry— he doesn’t have to admit that, even to himself.

* * *

He’s awake unusually early the next morning, before Ignis even arrives, and he drums his fingers restlessly on both the countertop and the mug of instant coffee he made for himself, bitter and unpleasant. Despite the fact that he’s up and waiting, he still jumps in his seat when the door opens.

“Noct?” Ignis jumps a little too when he sees Noctis awake and waiting, and  _ hey, _ it shouldn’t be  _ that _ much of a shock. “Good morning.”

Noctis should probably respond in kind, or at least convey that he has something important to discuss. Instead, the words that come out of his mouth are,

“Why are the flowers gay?”

“What?” Ignis’ face is a mask of confusion.

_ Shit. _ “Uh, yesterday? Gladio came over. Like, in the afternoon. He had some books and stuff to give me.”  _ Get to the point, idiot. _

“Did he?” says Ignis, clearly still confused for obvious reasons.

“And, well, he just went off at me about flowers. For like, twenty minutes.”

“Gladio did?... I suppose it’s no surprise he’d be knowledgeable on the topic, given family naming traditions, but what prompted that?” Ignis arranges his shoes in the entrance, and makes his way into the apartment as he speaks.

Noctis gives up on words and just gestures vaguely at the four-day-old bouquet in front of him, which has dropped some leaves on the countertop overnight, and notices Ignis go a little pale. Something in his jaw visibly tenses, and the sight of Ignis nervous does nothing to calm the butterflies in Noctis’ own stomach.

“What did he say?”

“Uh, you gave me gay flowers, basically.”

“Oh.”

There’s a beat. Ignis picks up a fallen leaf from the countertop.

“And he spoke about this at length, you say?”

“He didn’t know they were from you. Got real quiet when I said so. And I told him he was full of shit, that there was some kind of mix-up, or mistake, but…”

Noctis studies Ignis’ expression, which is admirably neutral, but no match for the decade plus of experience he has in reading the mood of Ignis’ slightest twitches.

“... Gods, he was right. You’re in love with me.” Noctis lets out a laugh that comes more from tension than humor, but regrets it when Ignis flinches.

“Noct, I…”

“Come sit down.” Noct slides over a second cup of instant coffee, and Ignis takes the seat next to him.

“I did not expect that you would find out. I must apologize for any distress I’ve caused you.”

“Why the flowers, then?”

Ignis is curled in on himself, oddly small as he looks into his coffee. 

“I… It’s difficult to explain. Perhaps… I found myself conflicted, between the desire to be honest with you always, and my duty towards your care. Which does not involve burdening you with my selfish feelings.”

“Ignis,” Noct groans in frustration, and  _ nice going, _ that’s definitely going to make him feel more comfortable talking about it.

“I had to say it. I felt like I couldn’t go on, if I never said it. But I couldn’t say it. So I told myself I’d do it like this. Just once. Once, and never again.”

Noctis reaches out and takes Ignis’ hand from the counter, feeling the leaf crushed in the palm of his hand.

“There shouldn’t be secrets between us. Whatever your feelings are, they’re not selfish. Or, whatever, maybe they are, but I’ve been kind of a selfish jerk for  _ years _ so... it’s fair turnabout. Or something.”

“Thank you,” Ignis says, still looking at their hands. He hasn’t met Noct’s eyes yet. “But I think, if I am to be exposed, I owe you a proper confession.”

He shrugs off Noctis’ hand and draws out the largest of the red sylleblossoms from the center of the bouquet with long, elegant fingers. His hands have faint white lines and marks, burns and cuts from his time in the kitchen, calluses from training, but somehow they still look so soft. He pinches and breaks the stem a few inches below the bottom of the flower, then slides it into Noctis’ shirt pocket.

“I say this with no expectation nor hope of reciprocation. Noct, I love you. So very much.”

He’s finally looking into Noctis’ eyes, sad and kind and joyful all at once, and Noctis feels… Noctis doesn’t know what he’s feeling, but it’s about to burst out of his chest like the butterflies have all turned into a large and agitated flock of birds.  _ Damn it. Damn you, Ignis. _ Who let him be this charming and kind, and yes, goddammit, handsome, all elegant features and dark lashes framing green eyes? And because words are failing him this morning, before he realizes what he’s done, he’s leaned forward, pulled Ignis in, one hand around the back of the neck, and is kissing him. Ignis freezes for a moment, then returns the kiss, a hand moving to rest on Noctis’ back.

Noctis pulls away so fast it spooks both of them, and they stare at each other for a moment.

“Sorry. Told you I was a selfish jerk.”

“No. It’s quite alright,” Ignis says softly. “Whatever you’re feeling, it isn’t selfish.”

“Good. Cause I don’t know  _ what _ I’m feeling. Been in a tailspin since yesterday.”

Ignis’ hands have returned to his lap, fidgeting slightly, and Noctis gets the distinct impression he might be about to apologize again. So Noctis speaks first,

“But… Right now, I’m feeling like maybe I want to try this?”

Ignis turns to look at him, mouth slightly open in an expression of hopeful surprise.

"I mean… gods, I don't want to mess with your feelings or anything. And I don't wanna end up hurting you. So tell me if it's not okay. I'll understand if it's not okay."

Ignis reaches out, and brushes some of Noctis' bed-mussed hair behind his ear. His voice is soft.

"I would rather try and be hurt than never try at all. I think that's true in many things. But particularly in this."

"Yeah… Alright," Noctis says, "Alright."

Ignis' hand is resting over his on the counter, and it gives a little squeeze. He leans in and let Ignis initiate another kiss, longer, deeper, and it's still a strange feeling to be doing this with his friend but like hell he's going to stop now. Not when it's like  _ this. _ He's a little breathless when they part, and looks up into Ignis' eyes, shimmering joyfully behind his glasses. There's too much to express, too much to even feel, and so he simply leans forward to nuzzle his face into Ignis' shoulder.

_ Yeah...I think this is going to work just fine. _

His reverie is interrupted by Ignis' low, satisfied voice.

"Now, my love, what would you like for breakfast?"

**Author's Note:**

> Notes on the flower language (aka mostly shit I made up):
> 
> Ravenwing- completely made up
> 
> Red sylleblossom- from Episode Ardyn, of course, and so I gave them the fake scientific name _zelos ardens_ ("burning zeal"). Sylleblossoms are called "zeal flowers" in Japanese, and "arden" is probably the origin of Ardyn's name. I also decided blue sylleblossoms are _zelos devotus_, "devotus" meaning "vowed, promised, dedicated, destined", but also coming from the verb "devoveo" which can apparently have the additional meaning of "I curse" (so there's a little hint of Somnus in there too). Feel free to use these if you happen to want them for a fic.
> 
> Blooddrop- also completely made up, but the "brotherhood ceremonies" are a reference to a similar early Christian practice which historians think was (in at least some cases) effectively gay marriage.
> 
> Turnsole- an old fashioned name for heliotrope and other flowers that turn to face the sun. The meanings given for heliotrope are genuine.
> 
> Violet- also genuine flower language, and Ignis' birth flower.
> 
> Hyacinth- In Greek mythology Hyacinthus was the lover of Apollo, who was accidentally killed by the god and then made into a flower. I re-wrote the myth to fit FFXV lore. There's also some borrowings from the Japanese/Chinese literary association between chrysanthemums and homosexuality. In flower language, hyacinths mean "constancy".


End file.
